


its wind a choir

by allourheroes



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M, Nymphs & Dryads, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants the forest to take him, not to be taken away from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	its wind a choir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sakuratamiko16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuratamiko16/gifts).



> Happy birthday! (For another, like, two minutes, here in California.)
> 
> She wanted more fairytales and although I'm uncertain how my "fairytales" come out, I've given it a shot. Anyway, she's amazing.
> 
> Title from "This Weather" by Patrick Wolf.

The woods have become like a second home to Damian, although he does not often walk them alone.

He refuses to bring in another human being, too raucous for his purposes. He enjoys surrounding himself with growing things, with flora and fauna allowed to thrive away from the prying eyes and clomping boots of the kingdom’s marauding troops.

Titus starts barking and Damian halts. He shushes the dog and Titus obeys, on alert but ready to wait for further orders.

Damian listens.

The woods are not silent by any means. There is still the sound of a river not too far off, of birds and squirrels moving in the trees and across the forest floor, the wind whispering through the leaves. There is the occasional chirp or chatter. Nothing to be concerned by...but Titus does not spook easily, does not bark without reason.

They continue moving, but Damian is aware of every step and every sound. Unafraid, yes, but he is no fool.

He and Titus are nearly silent as they approach the river and Damian spies the man before they can be seen. Dark, shaggy hair and a wide expanse of tanned skin—although lighter, much lighter than his own—greet him. Uncovered except by the woods.

Damian holds up a hand and Titus doesn’t growl, looking to him in question instead.

The dog’s earlier panic should have alerted this man to their presence, but he seems unconcerned, even in such a vulnerable state.

Damian tiptoes forward until he’s within range to strike—or dodge—and the man still doesn’t turn around. Titus is holding position behind him, ready to pounce should anyone dare threaten his master.

“Going to introduce yourself?” the man asks, amusement in his voice. Damian inhales sharply and the man begins to laugh. The man turns and his grin is bright like the sun, his eyes like the river his fingers had trailed through a moment earlier.

“Who are you?” Damian asks, in lieu of an answer. His skin prickles and he scans for any weapon nearby, finding nothing. Titus takes his place at Damian’s side.

The man shrugs. “Descendant of the gray skies,” he glances heavenwards, “the beautiful trees, the rich earth.” He’s still smiling.

“Son of the gray sky?” Damian asks, scoffing. “If that is all you’ll tell me, I will call you Grayson.”

The man—Grayson—laughs again, and the birds seem to join him in song. “I like it,” he agrees. “But I still don’t know what I call _you_.”

With a huff, Damian’s mind roils with unanswered questions. Slowly, he allows, “Damian.”

“Damian,” Grayson repeats. He stands and stretches, no tact or modesty where his body is concerned. “What are you doing out here?”

Cheeks reddening, Damian concentrates on the man’s face. “Exploring,” he answers, a partial truth.

Grayson glances out through the trees, as if he can see through to the edge of the forest. “Conquering,” he corrects, and he gives Damian a look that is far too knowing for a naked man in the middle of the woods. His gaze shifts to Titus. “But your beast is loyal.” He crouches and offers his hand. Damian is surprised when Titus goes to him, although the dog glances back at Damian. “Not hunting,” Grayson adds, eyeing him.

“No,” Damian admits.

“You respect the woods,” Grayson continues. “I’ve been watching you.”

“I would’ve known,” Damian protests, and his tone has Titus letting out a low growl in his defense.

Grayson tilts his head. “The trees see more than your think.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “ _I_ see everything,” he says, and he does not need to drag himself down to the level of _ogling_ to convey his meaning.

Grayson catches his meaning nonetheless. “Do you?” he asks, coy. Something about him beckons Damian to him and, much as Titus had gone, Damian finds himself unable to refuse the call. He doesn’t want to.

Moments later, Damian finds his back pressed hard against the bark of a tree, his hands scrabbling at Grayson’s skin. He can’t get enough. He is drawn inexplicably into the man’s embrace, into the embrace of the wild.

He lets the forest take him.

Hours, days, months, _years_ later, a voice calls to him. It is his brother’s voice and Damian turns sluggishly, as if pulled from a particularly enthralling dream, one from which he does not wish to wake.

“Drake,” he addresses. He sounds bothered. He _is_ bothered.

He is sat at the edge of a forest, against the stump of a newly felled tree. Titus’s chin rests upon his thigh. There are splinters under his nails.

His brother sighs. “Good. You’re alive.” He nods his head toward the woods. “We’ll be cutting them all down soon. Wouldn’t want His Highness to waste an entire search party on you.”

In his state, it takes Damian a moment to process the words. “We can’t!” he protests, scrabbling up, dislodging Titus.

Drake doesn’t try to argue, only giving Damian an odd look.

Damian glances back, searching for any sign of Grayson. The skies are growing heavy, rain must be imminent, but he runs into the forest, ignoring his brother’s cries.

“They’ll kill you!” he calls, approaching the river.

But there is no man waiting, wading in the clear waters.

Titus arrives behind him, panting and distressed by Damian’s sudden burst of fear. The dog wanders to the river and drinks.

There is a tree rooted halfway into the river bed. It cannot be the same place and yet Damian is certain this is where he had encountered the man. He is _certain_.

He looks up to the deep gray expanse of heaven. He closes his eyes, feeling droplets hit his nose, his forehead, his chin, his lips.

It no longer feels like the rain.

It is too solid and Damian’s hands find skin, water-slicked and fresh beneath his fingertips.

He breaks the kiss to find those river-blue eyes staring into his own. “I’ll stay,” he says, knowing that if he can hide it will delay the forest’s fate.

“They’ll bring men,” Grayson replies, and Damian can hear the implication. It would just as certainly ensure destruction.

Damian pulls away. “Then…come with me,” and he knows not what he means, what he requests.

Grayson watches him for a long moment and Damian turns to check on Titus, only to find the man gone once again when he turns back.

Mustering his will, he adds, “Please.”

He awaits the forest’s reply.


End file.
